


wordless silence;

by bloodynargles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Unrequited Love, WOO, anGST FOR THE DAY AFTER VALENTINES, i fuckin, im sorry i made myself cry with this, stop me, yell at me pleas e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodynargles/pseuds/bloodynargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't love, he cares, carries a sleeping, battered friend back to her bed and makes sure she's safe before he leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wordless silence;

“You've been thinking of him again.” Leliana's voice seems far away from her current disposition, like she's in another world entirely and there's just echoes, memories of the life of the Inquisitor fading in and out. Trevelyan rubs a hand over her face, tired eyes searching out the other, their figure shadowed by the dim light that had taken over the war room. “It doesn't help.” But its not like she can stop. Footsteps echo as her adviser steps near, settling next to her with a delicate hand placed on the table beside her own, nails digging into the wood out of frustration, rather than anger or anything she would emote when the lion was present. No, she couldn't let him see her pining. There's a sigh that leads on into a silence, where neither could speak on the matter- like there were no words left to say. There wasn't, really. There was never anything to say when the person you love doesn't love you back, when you act everyday like you know what it is you are doing, saying, _being._ Trevelyan didn't know. And, by the lingering quietness of the one beside her, Leliana didn't, either.

 

She tugs at her curls, next time, and Josie is watching her carefully, the candle attached to her to do list flickering in the corner of her eye. Cullen is lurking somewhere and she doesn't want to think of that now. Think of him. It was a niggle in the back of her mind, never when he's here to notice, always when he's gone, not in the room. Not in her view. Trevelyan doesn't notice the light footsteps that approach, not until there's a soft touch on her arm and she knows Josie _knows_ , but she just can't quite say it aloud. Her brown eyes aren't worried, they're not filled with pity over her current situation- there's drive, and determination in them and Trevelyan isn't sure she can match that, right now. She feels _lost_ but the heavy footsteps of their Commander come closer and the other's hand falls to their side. His eyes are buried in a report and it gives her enough time to compose herself before he looks up at his _Herald_. Never anything more.

 

There's blankets coddled around her shoulders now, as Dorian talks about something she can't quite hear through all the ringing in her ears, can't particularly register when all she could think of was the way Cullen's lips curve when he _smiles_. He stops talking, watches her staring off past the door, eyes far away in some dream scape where she wishes her adoration was requited. “Trevelyan.” His voice is soft, and the sob that almost chokes her falls from her lips as the mirror is, per always, broken. Dorian stares at her, and there's no tears falling from her eyes, she supposes she's too far into a lie that she can't quite envision coming out of unscathed. Her orbs pass to his, and the sadness, the emotion that yells that she's _settling_ with the life she's fashioned out of a lie, its all revealed without any words but her family name. A name that will go down in history, a tale of the war, of the bright green breach in the sky- not of the broken woman behind it that can't quite remember the last time she was herself. “I'm sorry.” Her gaze drops away from the mage, and they don't speak of the moment again.

 

Cullen's hand is on her shoulder, and she's not sure if he's steadying her or if he's _proud_ , but she can't concentrate on anything and she's slipping away, she can _feel_ herself pulling from his grip before she even makes the decision on where to run. Mumbles something about bathing herself and no one follows, seemingly having accepted her lie for the truth. She really doesn't deserve their trust. Finds a small nook to curl herself up in, far enough away that the joyful celebrations are muted, the loudest of noises barely whispers. She stares. Blood and dirt caked on her face, on her clothes, but she doesn't particularly notice, the broken thrum of her heartbeats the only thing reminding her that she's still alive. Yet she can't quite decide if that's a good thing. No one comes to find her, and so she just sits, curled up into herself while the silence and her thoughts eat her alive. Falls asleep there, wakes curled up in her sheets with no evidence as to who put her there. There's a lingering smell of incense, and the feeling bubbles over. Finally, _finally_ the tears fall, maybe about him, or the war, or the end and she can't see where to go next. Not to him.

 

The next days are numb, she's back to being the Herald and whoever coaxed her to bed doesn't make themselves known. She doesn't have time to _think_ , but there's a letter written in cursive she used to know so well, and her fingertips ghost over the words after she's read them a million times. Her family was coming to visit, there was no surprise. She excuses herself and Josie's stare bores into her back as she walks away. The façade was faltering, there's an indication on Cullen's face as she breezes past him, her begging thought to the Maker not saving her from the lion's den this time. “Inquisitor?” The worry in his voice is primal, throbbing in her mind as he comes closer, gloved hand pressed against her back and she _sobs_. There was no stopping the emotion anymore, nothing to keep her distracted from the pain anymore- her family would see right through her, her brother would stare at her until she broke, falling apart because she _couldn't_ , couldn't hold it together anymore. He falters, hesitates before he moves, like a nervous stray who has never had a home before. Trevelyan supposes it fits him, a little.

 

He smells of musk, and the incense that inhabited her room for so long. It occurs to her that while he doesn't _love_ , he cares, carries a sleeping, battered friend back to her bed and makes sure she's safe before he leaves. He cares, and _she_ loves. Perhaps he knows, probably doesn't- it didn't matter, not now. She's just glad that its _over._

 

He huffs, breathes something in her hair with a tone of slight humour and she smiles even though she can't hear the words. Something about wordless silence creeps into her mind, where there was nothing to say and the air was stale, but its different, with him, with _Cullen._ It always is, and maybe they will change, but she's not sure that that ever will.

 

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry im going to hell but 
> 
> st o p m e


End file.
